Disassimilation
by Mizvoy
Summary: PostEndgame. Seven suggests a closer bond that Chakotay finds more than a little objectionable. J and C friendship


Disclaimer: Seven of Nine, Chakotay, and Kathryn Janeway belong to Paramount. No infringement intended. 

Summary: Post-Endgame. Seven suggests a closer bond that Chakotay finds more than a little objectionable. J and C friendship

Disassimilation by mizvoy

"I don't understand why you refuse a simple step that is guaranteed to increase our intimacy and cement our bond." Seven stood in front of the balcony window of the apartment, her body stiff with tension and resentment, her hands gripped behind her back. "I thought we were forming a personal collective."

Chakotay stood at the far side of the room trembling with fury and relief. He asked himself what his current physical condition would be if she had simply injected him with her carefully modified nanoprobes instead of seeking his permission first, and he felt slightly nauseated at the thought. "I'm not sure that being in a relationship is the same as forming a collective, Seven. I want to explore being a couple as human beings, not as fellow drones."

"That is not what I'm proposing. This would be only a partial assimilation that will increase our intimacy. The human connection is incomplete and open to misinterpretation. I don't know your thoughts, and you don't know mine."

He felt himself blush as he remembered his brief connection with the former drone Riley Frasier. As fascinating and thrilling as their sexual encounter had been because of his temporary connection to her mind, it wasn't enough to warrant losing his independence and autonomy. And he was certain that he didn't want to share his every thought with his partner, no matter how much he loved her. "Privacy is an essential element of individuality. Humans maintain their separate identities even in a committed relationship."

She turned to face him. "I often feel lonely, even when we're together. Many times I feel insecure and unsure of your affection."

"I don't know what I can do to remedy that. I've told you I care about you and that I want to be with you. I've chosen to be with you since Voyager's return. What else can I do to convince you of my feelings short of this partial assimilation?"

She paused, thinking through his comments carefully. "Perhaps I am asking too much of you. Are humans capable of relationships that do not include this loneliness?"

He hesitated. As usual, her questions were deceptively complicated and a challenge to answer. "I'm not sure what you mean by loneliness. If you mean that you feel a detachment from me at times, then I'm not sure that any couple can avoid feeling that way. I can remember being lonely when I was with someone special, yet I also remember being very much at home in spite of that feeling."

"Do you feel at home with me?"

He stared at her. Did he? She often wore him out with her endless questions about his emotions, with her tireless analysis of every shade and nuance of their relationship, with her constant probing on issues of male/female interaction, as if he were an expert counselor on human sexuality instead of a man who was simply seeking happiness and belonging. Finally, he decided that she needed him to be brutally honest, that she depended on him to tell the truth. He said, "I feel ill at ease with you at times. But I've always blamed that feeling on the fact that our relationship is in the earliest stages. We're still getting to know each other. I've hoped that, with time, the feeling would disappear."

"But we've been connected before."

"Connected before? What are you talking about?"

"The day I was severed from the collective, you intruded on my thoughts and witnessed many of my childhood memories. And my mind briefly touched yours." She glanced away, suddenly shy. "It's that intimacy that drew me toward you on Voyager. Because of that familiarity, I felt comfortable in exploring a closer bond with you."

Chakotay winced. His memory of that brief interaction was quite different from hers, a blur of color and motion laced with intense pain that resulted in unconsciousness. It was an experience he had diligently tried to forget and deeply regretted. The fact that his agony had saved the ship was the only thing that made the incident worthwhile. "I'm afraid I remember very little detail of that mental interface," he admitted, "except that I had a headache for the next two weeks."

Seven's eyes flashed with anger, perceiving his joke as criticism. "Why must the compromise always be mine?"

"Compromise?"

"Since I first arrived on Voyager, everyone's goal has been to make me more human, as if that's a desirable goal. Except for my alcove, I've had to make change after change to fit into human society, while the rest of the crew simply continued their lives as usual."

His mouth fell open in surprise. He had always complimented himself on his empathy with the crew, with his natural ability to put himself in the other person's shoes. It was this quality that had made him the de facto counselor on the ship and a top-notch first officer, according to the captain. Yet never once in the four years Seven had spent on the ship had he realized the depth of her isolation or the extent of her bitterness over the many adjustments she'd had to make to fit in. It had never occurred to him that she would demand others to make similar sacrifices and adjustments to her needs.

He had been deliberately oblivious to her distress, at first because he considered her presence a threat, and later because he resented the time the captain had spent working with her. He'd thought of her as a recalcitrant and insubordinate member of the crew whom he had to treat with kid gloves or risk the wrath of her mentor--Kathryn Janeway. In spite of their few months of dating, he finally comprehended the truth: he didn't know her.

He didn't know Seven of Nine, not really, and he wasn't sure he ever would know her unless he accepted this "offer" of partial assimilation. He looked at her as she faced him, appreciating her incredible beauty, her curvaceous body. But he knew that beneath her carefully maintained exterior lay hidden proof of her alien, altered nature in the form of Borg hardware. The extent of it, when he'd taken the opportunity to glance through her file, had deeply disturbed him. She wasn't really human. The Borg had taken that from her forever. He could understand why she felt it was only fair for him to meet her halfway. But the thought of it disturbed him too much.

"Compromise? Is that how you view this request of yours?" he asked her. "You're proposing my partial assimilation as a sort of give and take?"

"That is exactly what it is. I can't divest myself of all of my Borg implants in spite of the doctor's efforts to do so. I've done all I can to become human. Isn't it fair to ask you to accept some implants in order to make a closer connection with me?"

"On the surface, I admit that what you're proposing sounds logical and fair." He shivered in spite of himself. "But it isn't logical, and it isn't fair. I'm unwilling to allow myself to be partially assimilated for any reason. You're asking too much."

"The captain was willing to be partially assimilated to help the drones in Unimatrix Zero, drones she didn't even know. Wouldn't you be willing to do this if you truly loved me?"

He repressed a sudden flair of anger at her accusation. "My refusal has nothing to do with how I feel about you," he snapped, and then closed his eyes as he struggled to regain his composure. Finally, after a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes. "And besides, your analogy doesn't work. The captain permitted the partial assimilation knowing it was temporary and limited because of the neural suppressant. The whole experience lasted just a few hours. She took a calculated risk on behalf of thousands, maybe even millions, of drones in an effort to damage an enemy that has been a threat to the Federation for years."

"Then, your final answer to my suggestion of a modified assimilation is a definite 'no.'"

Chakotay walked past her to look out the window. He kept hearing Seven's statement that she'd done all she could to become human rattling in his brain. If this was the extent of her ability to change, if she had come as far as she could toward full humanity, then he knew it wouldn't be enough, that they would never be happy together. He'd want more passion, more empathy from her than she could give, just as she was asking more of him right now than he was willing to give. Perhaps what she really needed was someone who had also survived the Borg.

At that thought, the memory of their previous weekend came back to him. Seven had invited him to meet some of the former drones from Unimatrix Zero who had found a safe haven in the Federation. At her counselor's suggestion, Seven had been assigned to work with them and help them adjust to the challenges of post-Borg life. She had found the work both therapeutic and beneficial. Her conversation had been dominated by talk about the new friends she had made, and it had become clear to him that she was relieved to meet individuals who understood and shared the difficulties she faced in adapting to life outside the collective.

"This is Sam Harris," she'd said as she'd introduced him to a tall human with red hair and clear blue eyes. "He, too, was assimilated as a child and spent nearly fifteen years in the collective."

Chakotay had recognized the name as one of her favorite friends and had greeted him warmly, but the man had reacted with what could only be called a cool disdain. At the time, Chakotay had brushed the unfriendly behavior aside as part of the man's social immaturity, but now he wondered if Sam Harris had seen him as a competitor for Seven's affections. He wondered if the experiences that the former drone shared with Seven made him a more suitable candidate for a "personal collective."

He turned and looked at her with new insight as she stood waiting patiently for his response. Why did she suddenly want him to share the Borg experience with her? Perhaps what she really wanted was to explore a relationship with Sam Harris or one of the other liberated drones. Perhaps her new friendships made her realize what was missing in her relationship with him. Whatever her motivation, he was more certain of his response to her proposal than ever before.

"My answer is a definite no." Her eyes turned sad, and, as she looked away, he realized that this discussion was going to have long-term consequences. "I'm not unhappy with the relationship we have, Seven, and I'm willing to continue to work on it if you are."

"I need to think about that," she admitted, her voice quiet. "I'm not sure that either of us is willing to make the level of commitment that a long-term relationship between us would require."

Strangely enough, her sudden words of doubt came as a relief to Chakotay. He'd been second-guessing his involvement with Seven of Nine since Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant six weeks earlier. He'd even discussed his reservations with Captain Janeway, who, with her typical perception and empathy, had managed to give him the advice he most needed to hear: "I think the best course of action is to give Seven all the freedom she thinks she needs. If she chooses to remain with you, then you can be sure of her devotion. If she chooses to leave, then you may have avoided a more painful breakup later on."

"Perhaps we should reconsider the direction our relationship has taken," he suggested, following the captain's advice and giving Seven a chance to end their liaison, if that's what she wanted to do. "Our lives have changed drastically since Voyager's return, and our reasons for becoming involved may not be relevant now."

"That may be the answer," she replied in a hushed voice. "Perhaps we are not, after all, a suitable pair for a personal collective."

He smiled at her odd phrase, even as he realized that she was, in fact, going to leave him. "Perhaps we aren't."

"I greatly appreciate the time you've spent with me and the help you've given me regarding human romantic behavior."

His smile widened. What red-blooded human male wouldn't have volunteered to help Seven explore her sexuality? He knew for a fact that he was the envy of a dozen of men on Voyager alone. "I assure you, it was my pleasure to help you."

"You wouldn't be hurt if we decided to stop seeing each other?"

"Not if we decide that's the best option for us. I hope we'll remain friends, of course, and I'll miss your company." He held his breath a moment before the right phrase popped into his head, "But, I'll adapt."

She raised an eyebrow in amusement. "As will I." She picked up the jacket she had folded over the back of a chair and put it on. "In light of our discussion, I think it would be advisable to cancel our weekend plans, don't you?"

"You're probably right." He gestured to the door of his quarters and followed her across the room. "Give me a call now and then. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"I appreciate the offer. I, too, would like to remain friends." She stepped through the door, and then she stopped, drew close to him, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Chakotay, for everything you've done for me. You've been patient and kind. I'll never forget that."

"You're welcome," he murmured as he watched her walk down the hallway toward the elevator, his head still spinning from the speed of their dispassionate breakup. He was surprised that his heart wasn't broken by her departure, that he wasn't depressed or disappointed. And he apparently wasn't the only one undisturbed by the turn of events. Seven of Nine never looked back.

He closed the door and leaned against it, glancing around his quarters with a feeling of burgeoning excitement. He hadn't imagined when he'd arrived in his apartment that afternoon that he'd be a free man in a matter of hours. Yet here he stood. For the first time in years, he could plan his future around his heart's desire. He found the unlimited potential of his choices exhilarating.

He wanted to feel at home. He wanted to unwind in an environment of complete relaxation, where he could be himself without worrying about his companion's feelings or needs. He wanted to talk about his problems and his worries with someone who had enough life experience to understand the difference between the times that he needed advice and the times that he simply needed to get things off his chest. He wanted acceptance. He wanted empathy. He wanted peace.

Peace.

Almost before he knew what he was doing, he found himself sitting in front of his view screen and looking into Kathryn Janeway's face. The exhaustion and worry that she'd worn through their long six weeks of debriefing was momentarily replaced with surprise and then by concern. "Chakotay? Is something wrong?"

"Not really. I just need to talk to you." He glanced away, momentarily embarrassed by the emotion in his voice. He cleared his throat. "When I left your office this afternoon, you said you didn't have any plans for this weekend."

"That's right. I was about to replicate some soup and do some reading." She frowned, suddenly wondering why he would ask. "What do you need to talk about?"

"My plans for the evening just fell through, and I thought maybe we could have dinner together and take a nice, long walk through Golden Gate Park. There's a full moon tonight, and . . . well . . . I need a friend."

She stared at him in astonishment, and then broke into a smile that was bright enough to blind him. "Oh, Chakotay! I'd like that." She glanced down at her uniform. "I just got home from work, but I can change clothes and be ready in half an hour."

"I'll drop by and pick you up. Be sure to wear comfortable shoes."

She smiled again. "This is a wonderful surprise. I've missed you, Chakotay," she said, her voice a whisper.

He knew he was grinning like the village idiot, but he didn't really mind. The events of the evening helped him realize what, or who, had been missing from his life for the last few weeks. "Kathryn, I've missed you, too."

The End (or is it the beginning . . . ?)


End file.
